Opiate
by ampersands
Summary: There's a darkness swelling in Arthur. Gaius believes it to be a disease of the mind, but something in Merlin tells him it may be more than a mental affliction. M for dark themes in later chapters.


Interludes are from Sarah Kane's play _4.48 Psychosis_. Not as happy as can be with this fic, but it's the first time I've tried projecting my emotions onto characters, so it has a special place in my heart.

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><p><em>Despair propels me to suicide<em>  
><em>Anguish for which doctors can find no cure<em>  
><em>Nor care to understand<em>  
><em>I hope you never understand<em>  
><em>Because I like you<em>

_I like you_  
><em>I like you<em>

_Still black water_  
><em>As deep as forever<em>  
><em>As cold as the sky<em>  
><em>As still as my heart when your voice is gone<em>  
><em>I shall freeze in hell<em>

For some, there is a darkness. A darkness that blinds and smothers and chills, and settles itself in the chambers of one's heart. It clots reason and poisons all semblance of happiness, so that its victim finds themselves a lifeless shell of their former self. Arthur had felt it gnawing at his brain for the last month, and it had taken all that he had to keep it at bay. It was a presence, beside him when he rode, biting his ankles as he walked, leaning over his shoulder and whispering (lies?) when he looked at others. At night, he fisted the sheets and pressed his face against his pillow, trying to will the thoughts away. There was yet to be something that Arthur wanted gone which didn't leave, but the darkness was beginning to make itself comfortable. He could feel it crawling around his mind, exploring and marking its territory in his memories.

The shadows of Arthur's bedchambers were becoming friendly with Arthur's darkness, falling over his bed just so in a way that made the shafts of black look like hands upon his blankets. When he finally relaxed and attempted rest, it washed in through his mind, drowning him from the inside-out until he found himself unconscious. Sometimes, Arthur wished he didn't wake up. (This was what scared him the most.)

Some nights, Merlin found him, led to Arthur by intuition or something instinctual and empathetic that Arthur can't understand. At first, Merlin pretended to have heard Arthur call out in his sleep, and would quietly sidle into Arthur's quarters. He'd press a damp cloth to Arthur's forehead, offer to call for Gaius or to fix Arthur's bedding, but would eventually leave out of fatigue and confusion.

Slowly, things happened that the darkness couldn't touch, things that occurred during the day out in the woods, away from duty and fear. Merlin stopped pretending. He would just walk into Arthur's room in his bedclothes and press silent kisses to Arthur's face, sometimes laying in bed with him and wrapping his arms around Arthur's taut body. They rarely spoke, and never mentioned the nights in the days that followed.

Arthur didn't like the darkness. He especially didn't like the way it weakened him and took away his joy. Hunting, sports, teasing Merlin, reading — it all lost its appeal. He could feel it sucking away all concept of self from him. Even the thought of his father's exasperation could not spur Arthur to regain his interests. He'd just stopped caring.

One night, he broke.

His hands scrambled around the bed, reaching, wanting. Where was Merlin? Why wasn't Merlin with him? It was dark, it was so very dark, and Arthur wanted Merlin with him. Merlin made the darkness stop. Arthur wanted Merlin. _Merlinmerlinmerlin_. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. The feeling of his hands on his scalp felt strange, as though it were someone else's hands. Sweat was sticking to the gaps between his fingers, and that was from his scalp, so surely they were his hands, _surely_. The darkness swirled around him, tightening somewhere in his abdomen. _It was inside him. _Arthur wanted it out. _._The darkness laughed, a painful throbbing beneath Arthur's skin. Why was the darkness laughing? It was laughing because he was pathetic, that was why, wasn't it?

The dark suffocated him, filled his nostrils, probed behind the sockets of his eyes. He could feel it turn to claws around his veins. Arthur brought his legs to his chest and placed his knees on his eyes, putting himself in a controlled darkness. He watched the small filaments of white dancing about behind his closed lids. The cold slipped between the hairs of his body, and he shivered. What was wrong with him? Was anything wrong? Perhaps nothing was wrong, and he was simply creating all this in his head. Of course. He'd do that, he was the sort, he just needed to think rationally and everything would be fine and -

A cough. Arthur looked up quickly, his heart thudding into action. Through the drapes of his bed, he saw a figure by the door. Merlin. His antidote. Arthur scrambled across his bed like a madman and pulled the drapes across. His cheekbones ached from how he had been sitting - how long had he watched the white flickers behind his eyes?  
>"I, uh - " Merlin scratched the back of his head. He hadn't been to bed yet - the red of his kerchief looked deep burgundy under the moonlight, and his tunic's sleeves were covered in wet soap from washing. The darkness crept over the front of Arthur's chest at the reminder of Merlin's status. He could feel it gripping his sternum, cold and tight.<br>Merlin seemed to flutter slightly, and stepped into the room. He closed the door shut behind him, carefully, and lingered by it for a moment. The whites of his eyes housed two unsure circles of blue.

Arthur watched him. It was curious how in the late hours of night, they both became different people. Facial features that the moon should have highlighted became dull. Colours paled. Arthur and Merlin changed from a prince and his snarky servant to simple things of flesh, clutching at each other for one reason or another. That was all they were, really. Flesh. Anxiety, heavy as lead, sank to the bottom of Arthur's stomach.

"I thought," Merlin began, taking a step forward. He hovered on one foot for a moment. Arthur gestured for him to come, almost losing his balance from his strange half-lunge across the bed. "I thought you might want something."_ I thought you might need me. _"Are you unwell?" _Is it clawing at your back again and sucking from you every tolerable fibre of your existence?_

The sight of Merlin pushing aside the curtains around Arthur's bed with worried eyes was familiar, and this fact twisted in Arthur's chest. Being selfish had never bothered Arthur before, but Merlin was thinning, and the days were becoming shorter while the nights of _pleasestayican'tpleaseiwanti**need **_were growing. Waxing and waning. Arthur let himself relax and sit with his legs hanging over the edge of the bed.  
>"I think you think too much, Merlin," he muttered, trying to ignore the questioning way Merlin's knees were pressing against his.<p>

Merlin let out a small hum and arranged himself so he was on Arthur's lap, facing him with his hands on Arthur's shoulders. The painfully prominent hinges of his wrists brushed against Arthur's neck, and Merlin shifted slightly until their pelvises were as comfortable as could be. Beneath the worn linen of Merlin's pants was Arthur's bare skin, but there was no arousal in the eyes that moved over Arthur's collarbone, only concern. Arthur feared the day when he saw pity in those eyes. The cold of the night was prickling at Arthur's skin, but he was too scared to get a blanket in case it turned dark and suffocated them.

"Here," Merlin said quietly, almost like he knew the cure-like quality of his presence. His hand rested on Arthur's cheek, thumb stroking gently at the firm jaw below. They'd already spoken more than was usual for their evenings, but Arthur could feel a question bubbling at the back of his throat.  
>"Am I possessed?" As the words left his mouth, the weight in his stomach sank deeper. Stupid question. Of course he wasn't. Stupid. There was no change in Merlin's face, his gaze still tracing over Arthur's features.<br>"I don't know." The sincerity of his tone made Arthur stiffen. He almost wished Merlin had brushed it off with a laugh. Instead, Merlin's expression was serious in a way that almost made him look aged. Arthur watched Merlin's eyes follow the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the corner of his jaw, his chin, his gaunt cheeks. His roaming eyes refused to meet Arthur's, despite Arthur having his eyes locked on Merlin since he entered the room. Arthur dropped his gaze when he thought this, immediately feeling clingy.

Bridge, cheekbones, jaw, chin, cheeks. Merlin's right hand rested on Arthur's shoulder, his left stroking at the hinge of Arthur's right wrist.  
>"I'm tired of being weak," Arthur said to Merlin's collarbones. Merlin's eyes flickered over to the space behind Arthur's shoulder, where the darkness lay. "The mere fact that you bother with me is baffling, truly."<br>At this, Merlin finally made eye contact with Arthur, if only for a moment, and Arthur felt his jaw weaken as Merlin pressed a harsh, silencing kiss onto his lips. Merlin's hands gripped either side of Arthur's face, pulling him in. His tongue ran across Arthur's bottom lip, and the darkness flinched as Merlin bit down gently.

The darkness was unfamiliar with Merlin's roughness, as was Arthur. Arthur let Merlin continue his out-of-character ravaging of his mouth, his neck, his shoulders. Beneath his skin, he felt something with a warm, almost pleasurable, sting. The darkness ebbed, retreating to the back of Arthur's mind. Silently, it told Arthur it would return the moment Merlin's attempts at reassurance hit a snag, and with Arthur's sensitive nature, that was likely to be soon. Nevertheless, Arthur let his hands wander below Merlin's tunic, let Merlin push him down onto the bed, and let himself forget, just for the moment, how deviant he felt, using the touch of his male servant as a balm.

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><p>Short first chapter, just .. testing the waters and whatnot. Let me know if I should continue, okay? Okay.<p> 


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